Ace of Cups
Okay, yeah, so I finally have something else to post. I wrote this one a couple weeks ago, inspired by a couple stories my parents told me. Self-explanatory for the most part, but also contains allusions to Greek Mythology and MASSIVE allusions to The Waste Land.
Ace of Cups
Both my parents have stories
about trips to psychics taken
during their adventurous, curious youth.
My father's tale
involves an old woman who, in her hermitage,
employed empty glasses on her table
(like a oija board)
to communicate with spirits.
I imagine her hands
hovering over her upturned glasses,
eyes glazed from any kind of spirit,
tell-tale transparent liquid drops
left behind as clues.
My dad spoke of his skepticism,
but her act was apparently enough
to freak out all the neighborhood kids
anyway.
My mother, well,
she had gone with her best friend
to talk with a woman
who had become the latest local fad.
Give her a few dollars,
and she'd write your future on a slip of paper,
to tell you if that M.R.S. degree was worth it,
if you'd make a lot of money...
or maybe if you'd just end up
wasting away in front of your television,
just another American-- idle.
The slip of paper given to my mother
was lost over the years,
and she can't recall a single word written.
Perhaps Clotho obliterated it in protest,
asserting her right to re-weave a life as she wished.
For none but she and her sisters
have the right to see their tapestry before it's finished.
Though left with loose ends,
my parents' stories only encouraged me
in trying to find the plans
for the house-of-cards that was my future
from someone who claimed to have the blueprints.
So I visited a not-so-famous clairvoyant,
a reader of cards.
With too many clanging bracelets on her wrist
and cloying perfume invading the air around her,
she wasn't the Madame Sosostris I expected.
But that was alright;
her cards may still be just as wicked.
Inspired by my own twenty-of-coins,
she let visions of my future flow through her cards.
"This Ace crossed by a Four of Cups
shows dreams-- but by your boredom squelched...
Ah! I see your goal is Judgement--
an improved situation for yourself!
The Page of Cups shows your past as dreamer,
and Justice, your attempts at change;
now the Moon warns that if you wish for Judgement,
you should trust your heart over your brain.
"Oh! This Ace of Clubs shows new developments
(and hopes for still more changes new);
this Nine of Clubs warns of problems coming,
but if sought out, some solutions too.
Your Knight of Cups echoes his Ace
and whispers of your hidden desires,
while this last card, the Ten of Clubs,
speaks of all the work those dreams recquire."
So it was, just five minutes later,
I was turned out of her gaudy doors.
My last, leaving glimpse
was of a yawning, slouching woman
casually tucking away a twenty dollar bill.
I decided that I'd take her reading
with a grain (or ten) of salt,
keeping it in mind
simply as a story for the future.
The Greeks taught that prophecy is self-fulfilling,
so I'll bring my horoscope myself.
That's all for now. Hooray for Tarot.
Ace of Cups
Both my parents have stories
about trips to psychics taken
during their adventurous, curious youth.
My father's tale
involves an old woman who, in her hermitage,
employed empty glasses on her table
(like a oija board)
to communicate with spirits.
I imagine her hands
hovering over her upturned glasses,
eyes glazed from any kind of spirit,
tell-tale transparent liquid drops
left behind as clues.
My dad spoke of his skepticism,
but her act was apparently enough
to freak out all the neighborhood kids
anyway.
My mother, well,
she had gone with her best friend
to talk with a woman
who had become the latest local fad.
Give her a few dollars,
and she'd write your future on a slip of paper,
to tell you if that M.R.S. degree was worth it,
if you'd make a lot of money...
or maybe if you'd just end up
wasting away in front of your television,
just another American-- idle.
The slip of paper given to my mother
was lost over the years,
and she can't recall a single word written.
Perhaps Clotho obliterated it in protest,
asserting her right to re-weave a life as she wished.
For none but she and her sisters
have the right to see their tapestry before it's finished.
Though left with loose ends,
my parents' stories only encouraged me
in trying to find the plans
for the house-of-cards that was my future
from someone who claimed to have the blueprints.
So I visited a not-so-famous clairvoyant,
a reader of cards.
With too many clanging bracelets on her wrist
and cloying perfume invading the air around her,
she wasn't the Madame Sosostris I expected.
But that was alright;
her cards may still be just as wicked.
Inspired by my own twenty-of-coins,
she let visions of my future flow through her cards.
"This Ace crossed by a Four of Cups
shows dreams-- but by your boredom squelched...
Ah! I see your goal is Judgement--
an improved situation for yourself!
The Page of Cups shows your past as dreamer,
and Justice, your attempts at change;
now the Moon warns that if you wish for Judgement,
you should trust your heart over your brain.
"Oh! This Ace of Clubs shows new developments
(and hopes for still more changes new);
this Nine of Clubs warns of problems coming,
but if sought out, some solutions too.
Your Knight of Cups echoes his Ace
and whispers of your hidden desires,
while this last card, the Ten of Clubs,
speaks of all the work those dreams recquire."
So it was, just five minutes later,
I was turned out of her gaudy doors.
My last, leaving glimpse
was of a yawning, slouching woman
casually tucking away a twenty dollar bill.
I decided that I'd take her reading
with a grain (or ten) of salt,
keeping it in mind
simply as a story for the future.
The Greeks taught that prophecy is self-fulfilling,
so I'll bring my horoscope myself.
That's all for now. Hooray for Tarot.